


Cafe Noir

by adelaide_rain



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley introduces Aziraphale to coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cafe Noir

Aziraphale frowned at the drink that was placed before him by a demon that he was quite certain was trying not to grin maniacally.

"What is this? It's not tea."

"No, it's not. There are other drinks in the world, you know. For an angel you're very British."

"Hmmph." Aziraphale looked once more at the drink, not at all certain he would like it. It was black and that alone was a bad start. He'd tried tea black once and discovered it not at all to his liking. He preferred it swimming with milk and lovely and sweet enough to rot teeth. Wondering whether or not this new drink would suit milk being added he looked around vaguely to see if there was any available. None seemed forthcoming and just creating milk from the ether was rather uncouth.

"It's called 'coffee' - it's all the rage," Crowley said.

It was no surprise, then, that Crowley liked it; whatever was fashionable, he was dressed in it, whatever was 'all the rage', he would be doing it. He liked to think of himself as a very up-to-the-minute kind of demon.

It might well be against his better judgement to try something Crowley offered but it had to be better than him sulking. Aziraphale might never admit it to anyone but seeing Crowley upset wasn't pleasant to the angel. It should be, of course; he was supposed to smite demons at every given occasion. But there was something about Crowley's face when he was sad - the downward turn of lips, the dampening of the light in his eyes, perhaps - that made Aziraphale feel horrible. And so time and time again he'd done something that Crowley had tempted him into and ended up the butt of a joke. Crowley was very good at temptation; the best in the business one might say.

Lifting the cup up to his nose, Aziraphale sniffed. It smelt strange. Rich and intoxicating, tempting with the promise of exotic delights. The angel's eyes flicked over to Crowley, comparing him to the smell. Yes. If ever a smell had summed up the demon, this was it. No wonder Crowley liked it.

Taking a sip, Aziraphale pulled the cup away quickly, making a face. It was so strong! It was as rich as the smell had promised, thick and suggestive of long, languid nights doing things that no angel should even think about, much less do. It coated his tongue, leaving him with a strange taste in his mouth. That too reminded him of Crowley.

Putting the cup down, he saw that Crowley had given up trying to hide it and was now grinning madly.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a long, measuring look and took another sip of coffee. It would be much nicer with a bit - or a lot - of milk but as it was it was very interesting and very reminiscent of forbidden nights with his demon. The experience had many layers; firstly the heat burning the tongue; then the taste enveloping the senses. The feel of the hot liquid sliding silkily down the throat followed and the rich aftertaste came last and lingered.

"So, did you like it?" Crowley asked, beaming.

"It reminds me of you," Aziraphale said, giving his best secretive smile.

"What does _that_ mean?"

Widening his smile, Aziraphale didn't answer. Crowley used him for his amusement often enough; he felt it was his turn now and chuckled smugly.

"What? Angel!"

"Now, now, Crowley. Drink your coffee."

"But-!"

Crowley complained all the way to the end of the cup.

**Author's Note:**

> An older fic, from 2006. A different style to my current writing but I am weak when it comes to Aziraphale/Crowley :)


End file.
